Driftwood
by littlehands
Summary: JackKate, Season One, Jack and Kate bond and more during the first few days after the crash. Written after Pilot part two.


**Driftwood / S1 / Written after Pilot Part 2  
**

_It's no use deceiving  
Neither of us wanna be alone _

_Us, you and me  
River, sea, ocean_

Sleeping arrangements were the test. Some people, the couples and the families staked out the shelters, bits of metal and canvas. Others were left to make friends and attempt to find a place close to the fire, relying on the kindness that a crash brings out in people.

Kate lingered at the fire's edge, listening to people, telling their stories. Not saying anything for the fear that she would be asked to share her own was too great. She liked how the fire made everyone glow, just like her school camping trips from way back. She use to be so scared then, of everything that was new and different. Now, she always craves the normalcy that has escaped her. Something calming about the people, bonding; in the future there will be fights and blame, but now the serenity of shock.

She hears the shifting of sand beside her, and her shoulder tenses instantly, body poised to run. Taking a breath, she glances over, and Jack has sat beside her. He smiles at her, softly and with such kindness, her heart jumps. After he saw the mug shot, she though everything would change, that she would become the scapegoat of the survivors. But then he told her that everyone deserves a fresh start, and she felt linked to him from then on. A sort of bond, as she smiles back at him.

People are eating, food scavenged from luggage and the fruit that grows by the forest edge. It's the one thing people are not so willing to share, given the small amount of it. Others have spent a good part of the day finding some, but she's been off canvassing the forest with Sayid. Content with her granola bar that Clare gave to her, after she arrived back; settles back and begins to eat.

"Here."

She turns to see Jack holding out what looks to be a slightly under-ripe mango. He grins again, and hands it to her. She feels the heavy weight of the fruit in her hand, belly rebelling and making noise.

"Thank you. I'll spilt it with you."

"I've got a pocket knife back at the med tent, I'll go grab it."

He gets up, sand clinging to his pants and palms. Glancing at the people around the fire, all involved in conversation or food. No one would notice if she left, not that she cares, but people talk, and the last things she wants to be in the token island slut. Seeing how adept Shannon is at manipulating the guys, she maybe shouldn't worry so much.

"I'll come with you, legs are stiff anyway."

He watches her get up, a genuinely open face. She's happy to see him reach down to help her up, but find that's she already on her feet. He leads the way, from the fire past the charred wreckage over the low dune to the now empty med tent.

"Have you been staying out here?"

He looks back at her, slightly lit by the smaller fires of the tents ringing the wreckage.

"Yeah, I don't know, like the quiet I guess."

The hero always has to be introspective, she tells herself, as he disappears into the tent. Has to be somewhat of a loner, thinking back on the long gash on his side, closed up in her shaky stitches. She wonders if it's healing up right, all the exertion can't be good. But if she asked, what would he think?

Pausing, as Jack reappears with a knife, he starts to cut and peel the fruit. She's never been shy around men, not since college, not since she learned that with a smile she could get away with anything. Something about him makes he revert to that girl in a blue cardigan smiling at the boy who sat next to her in Intro to Economics freshman year.

He hold out his hand, glancing up at his eyes for a moment, then taking a piece of the fruit. Tart, but a tasty change from the dry granola she's been eating for the last few days. He's leaning up against the hut, the tree gently blowing in the night wind of the beach. Licking her fingers, one at a time; she sees him laugh, a warm full body laugh. Flushing slightly, she turns towards him, knees almost touching.

"What?"

"Nothing - just. Never mind."

"No, what?"

He's still smiling, resting back, legs slightly bent. She wonders if they should light a fire, she see traces of one. The night is cool, and it just might rain, with the way the breeze feels heavy.

"Just, that you looked so content, eating."

She pulls her knees to her chest, burrowing her feet under the sand. She doesn't know how reply, maybe to hint at the tension that underlies this moonlight meeting.

"Should we build a fire?"

Way to go Katherine, she thinks. What is a more off topic thing you could have said. He looks at her for a moment, then gets up and begins to arrange the leftover wood.

"That didn't mean you had to do it all yourself."

"It's okay, was a good idea. It gets chilly at night."

"Yeah, I'll get some more wood."

"Over there, should be a stack."

Standing up, scattering sand everywhere. She piles some wood into her arms, turning to look at him, the first flushes of light emanating from the fire. She can clearly see the cuts on his cheek, almost mirroring the ones on hers. Wonders if he'd flinch if she touched them, softly.

"Thanks. But you don't have to stay if you want, it's getting late. As far as I can tell."

She follows his gaze over her shoulder as she stoops down to hand him the wood. The fires wink in the blackness, most people have scattered from the main fire except for those in charge of keeping it going.

"No reason not too."

"Just that people talk, I don't want you to - "

"I want to stay, with you Jack."

The words hover in the air, sweeping away with the dark gray smoke from the fire. He goes into the tent, she's alone by the fire, stuck with words she might want to take back. But really, inside she know that she meant them.

"Here."

Looking up, he hands her a jacket, she doesn't ask from where, but it smell slightly clean. She pulls it on, way to big for her, wrapping it around her body. He has one on too, motions for her to move closer, blanket in one hand.

She moves next to him, thighs touching as he lays the blanket across both of their laps. She feels silly, not saying anything, just staring at him, wondering what he's thinking. He's looking at her, and she adverts her gaze for a moment.

"I can go if you want, if this makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine. We all need some company some nights."

A horribly vague admission of feelings from the both of them, she thinks, what a pair we are. Then his arm slips behind her back, and her head instinctually falls to his shoulder. Not a word as she listens to his heart beat, feeling his breath on her head, hand on her arm. He's warm, not that it's cold out, but she feels cold everywhere he isn't touching her.

Her brain babbles, telling her how stupid this is, how she should just get up and go sleep somewhere else, alone. Attachment was always her weakness, she couldn't see past the kindness to see the real motives. This island was doing silly things to her, seemingly redeeming her. She turns her head, resting on his chest, smelling like salt.

He doesn't say anything, just long slow inhales of breath fill her ears and the sea seems distant. She lets her eyes close, but her nerves are still tense; partly cause of the man she was resting against and partly cause of the thing that lurked off in the forest.

Time passes; a few moments, or an hour. Maybe she slept for a bit, warm and comfortable. Or she just rested in his arms.

She shifts against him, trying to find a comfortable spot, raising her head. Eyes open, and she sees his so close, faces almost touching. Blinking, once - twice, he's looking right at her. He brings his free hand over, smoothing the wisps from her face. Same rough hands as always, leaving streaks of warmth in their wake. She smiles, lowering her eyes for a moment, the fire glows red from the hot coals.

In that moment he chooses to kiss her, as soft and delicate as wind burned lips can be. With the odd angle, he ends up kissing the left corner of her mouth and a good portion of her cheek, but she doesn't mind, 'cause the second kiss more then makes up for the minor slipup of the first.

She turns in his arms, curling her legs under, and tucking herself in close. Face to face, his is lit by the fire and full of dark shadows. Her hand is cupping his chin, before she even realizes. Shows her how much she needed this, the connection with no plan. Blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes, she kisses him.

His lips are warm, like all of him, responsive to her light feathery touches. His arm slides down her side, falling into the curve above her hip. Fingers stroking her side, her's brushing his short hair, feeling the tough cords of his neck. The tension burns from her as he deepens the kiss, pulling her closer, her tongue flicks over his bottom lip. One kiss bleeds into the next until they become one long lingering of lips, tangles of heat.

Her legs are cramping, wedged under her, so she brakes the kiss, and stand up. His hand slides down her side as she brushes the sand off. He looks up her with such a open gaze, it makes her heart almost break. His other hand finds her hip and she straddles him, his back against the tree. Knees in the sand, but she doesn't mind, feeling his fingers on her bare skin, peeking out from under the jacket. She peels it off and his hand sides under her tank, fingers splayed open.

Leaning forward she reaches to pull him more upright, and to her lips. The motion rocks her against him, and a flush of color reaches her cheeks. She's isn't the only one who has had this in the back of her mind. He stops her inner dialog for a moment by capturing her lips, and she can think of anything but to curl her hand around his neck and hold on. He's a good kisser, and she gives him back what he inspires in her.

We all have this in us, she thinks as his hands slide up her back and her hips start to move in a primal dance. Her fingers start to undo his shirt, but he stops her by just pulling it over his head. The cringe that comes to his face when his torso meets the rough bark doesn't escape her. He begins to say something, but she stop him with fingers across his lips.

Pushing herself off of him, she reaches for the blanket-standard airplane issue-right inside the tent. Lying it on the flat sand near the dying fire, she sits knowing she must glow orange and red. He gets up, and kneels before her.

"We don't have to - "

First words spoken since the first kiss.

"What's saying we can't? I want you ... this. Who knows what tomorrow will be like? All the rules are different now, Jack."

Peeling her shirt off, revealing just in a thin camisole, she looks at him, as he reaches out to pull her hair from her face. The acquiescence in his eyes, the way he pulls her to him, how he lowers their bodies to the blanket; he now understand this new world they have been dropped in.

"Just you and me" whispering as his lips trace her jaw.

"You and me." He replies, sliding a wet kiss along her exposed skin.

Pulling his face back up to hers, delicate smile curling her lips, his bare torso firm against the thin layer of cloth between them. Her legs open up naturally, aligning her body with his, his weight balanced on his arms. He's acting as if she would break, but to be treated so gently makes her feel more human again. Fingers brushing down his back, avoiding the raised line under his arm. He breaks the kiss, sucking in air, lips brushing the curve of her high breast.

She moans; he half grins, not broadly enough for her to see. Nipples hard through the cream colored tank, she reaches down to wiggle it off, desperate for his touch. The redeeming quality of his rough fingers and smooth palms, wants it to cleanse her in the ways the salt water can't - though it stings her cuts like martyrs' brands. Teasing her with a feather light touch, he touches the pale skin, following his fingers with his tongue.

She feels warmth all over, flowing down her spine, pooling in between her thighs, just like she can feel his own body doing, throbbing slightly against her thigh. Insistent lips on her breasts, fingers rolling her into a light headed sensation. She can't remember the last time it was like this, slow. His hands reach her waistband, hers duck into the loose top of his. He reaches down and un does the zipper, seemly echoing in the stillness. Pulling his body from hers, she slides the stiff jeans off, as he does the same with the already worn suit pants.

There in the sand, he in his boxers, her in her black underwear. A pause.

Her chest heaves, as she remembers how to breathe without his lips on hers. Shadows define his body as his eyes trace her body, flushing down her chest in red sploshes. She always blushed too much, her mother could always tell, rosy cheeks in the morning. Lips connect again, the pressure rising as she feels his body against hers.

Parting slowly, after seemingly hours of touching, kissing, lingering, he whispers something against her neck, eyes closed. Too over whelmed with the sensations, she doesn't think to ask what he said, but later she wonders what slipped out. His lips dance over her belly, small bruises and scrapes, made clean with his adoration.

She's counting the stars, even though her eyes are closed.

One, his fingers slip under the sides of her underwear, hips jump a little bit, belly flip-flops. Five, the blanket is soft under bare body, legs open, eyes still closed. Thirteen, his stubble against her thigh, contrary sensations, lingering.

"Kate"

He's looking up at her, head resting on her hip. His voice is soft, something about his tone makes her name sound different. There's something about this island, something that makes everything common seem extraordinary. Propping herself on her elbows, she sees him, lying on his side between her legs, and smiles.

She runs her hand down his cheek, the concern and worry flow from his eyes, pooling near her chained heart. This isn't a normal situations, all the normal precautions of modern life are maximized in this haunting paradise. She doesn't want to deal with it, have a talk, she just wants him. But this isn't some drunken man in a seedy bar; this is a good man, a doctor.

It's not that he doesn't want her, she can feel-see that he does, against her calf. He's just one of the mythical guys her friends use to talk about, the nice ones. Kate, the woman she once was, never attracted guys like him. Something about a fresh start for her to see what she was missing. The reverent kiss on her knee brings her thoughts back to the present and to his hands stroking her used skin.

Anything, she want to tell him, just touch me. But she knows that's not what he wants to hear, the risks are too great. So she sits up and pull him to her, hands sliding down to rid him of the last impediment, skin on skin.

She whispers his name, three times slowly, like a mantra to assure herself that this was real. There are still days she wonders if this whole island is a dream, and she'll wake up in irons. He's trying not to thrust against her hip where he is nestled, and a moan bleeds into a kiss. He nudges her legs wider with his knees. She's ready for this.

He moves close. She can feel him against her opening, and unconsciously widens her legs. He enters her slowly; although neither of them want it that way, this just feels like it should be slowly. They've both been on the edge of something for awhile, he can see her chest rise and fall as he pushes in.

She forces herself to open her eyes, when she feels his breath on her cheeks, and there he is, hips flush with hers. She arches her neck and kisses him, gently as he begins to move, steadily. Finding the balance of give and take happens quickly, faster then she would have though. In the back of her mind, behind the pleasure that is flooding her body, is her mother's voice telling her something about the nice boys. For once she will have to agree as he changes the angle, lifting up her legs.

A gasp that is more like a moan escapes her lips, and this seems to spur him on, the sounds of her pleasure. His head resting against her shoulder, whimpering sounds, almost words with every breath. Then one she knows so well, her name, once-twice; clear as day. Her body is stretched and spun like fine wool.

Her hands side down to his hips, hanging on as he moves into her. He teases her by slowing for a moment, enough for her to cry out, then back to the rhythm that warms her all over. As much as they both seem to want to make this last the rest of the night, she's reaching a edge that it the point of no return. He lifts his head as she bucks against him, her eyes are pinched shut; that fine line between pleasure and pain.

She comes, with a low groan rolling from her open lips. Chest heaving, feeling him deep with in her. He rides out her waves, tight pulsing waves, wanting to let go, but holding back, because he can feel the sand beneath the blanket. When she opens her eyes, breath normalizing, he's softly smiling down at her, but she know he hasn't come yet.

She sits up, moving a hand up to his hair, pulling him into a sharp kiss, just to show how much she still wants him. Reaching down she wraps her hand around his hard cock lying on her hip. He breaks the kiss for a moment, scans her eyes for a moment, seeing her wicked grin, groans. She kisses his arm, next to the tattoo that she just wants to know the story behind. She scoot him into a more upright position, more leverage for her. Hand gliding up and down, firmly. His moan rolls out of his parted lips, eyes shut.

Just 'cause he's a good boy doesn't mean she can't be a little bit of a bad girl.

She can feel him pulse, tense with every upward stroke. Her name curls from his lips, low and smokey. Bending over, back arching; she see his eyes widen, but not a word. Sliding her lips over the slick head, she barely has time to react before he comes. Hard and fast, she can feel his muscles spasm, when her hand slides over his hip bones. She swallows, he tastes like the sea; warm and salty.

His hands slide into her hair, falling in waves from her loose pile, sliding down her neck across her shoulders. Her hands cup his chin, smiling at him. Something should be said, something. But instead they hold each other, arranging themselves on the thin blanket. He's on his back with her curled up against his side, legs intertwined with his. Sleep comes quickly, and she make almost whimpers when she dreams; she's happy he doesn't seem to snore. Resting for awhile, the sun is beginning to curl over the trees, in a pinky-gold light.

"Jack?"

"Hrm?"

She faces him, chin on his chest.

"What now?"

He has a hand behind his neck, such a casual position for lovers to take. She wonders what he'll say, knowing that something has passes between them, and things will be a different from here on. Her head spins for a second, trying to take in all the images and thoughts, but he interrupt her by smoothing her hair.

"Just another day, Kate. Just one day at a time."

"Oh that, yeah, I know. I was just wondering what's for breakfast."

Her face breaks into a big grin, as she knows that she's made him laugh. It was too soon to worry about analyzing and worrying. It all could end horribly, with a death or a revealed truth. Granted she didn't know much about him, but the same went for him, in regards to her. She didn't want this to be just for comfort and physical aspects, but she's have to let him in. Not today; her body aches at the thought of the things that she will have to do. But there is a good ache in some places, to remind her of him, of his touch.

Burying her face in his arm, she feels good, like a real person today. He holds her, looks at her curled up against him and he can see more then just the mug shot. Something more, just a little at the moment, but these things take time, that's one thing they have.

Another day begins.

There's something about this island, she thinks, something different.


End file.
